I have lived in the callous void, hunched
To the broil, watching for faces under
Subway escalators, trapped under the blue chrome
Of shop's sweating lights, slipping my ghost
Between the mourn of mannequins
Metallic cables in the swoosh death-drop
of cataleptic elevators, lifeless
As a brittle-star, reckoning the space
Of an ocean drowning dark matter.
Yet who's to know
Which face belongs, is ours. Is yours.
Is real? So many faces to greet you
With a smile, a gap in the tooth;
A vandal's pseudo charm, wrecked to a grimace
Of ugly jagged teeth.
Would you know which is mine?
Jerking at a child's window like a moonfaced skull
To spoon the alarm like scoops
Of a fat-man supping noisily to soup.
Which face would you choose?
Whose face would you trust?
Maybe women who wear face-paint
As an Aztec mask. Death warning
In a jungle heavy lipstick; warming up
The last drips taming of a rain-soaked light.
Electrons caught in the atom-break
                         of my darkest eye.

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